Butterflies

I know, I know, I’m better at procrastination than I am at writing. But I found this in the middle of a notebook. I forgot about it entirely and I really like it. So piss off!

Don’t really piss off. I like you, promise.

What is our fear
of things different than us?
We fear these different ways
will be the ones that take away
our freedom.

Our freedom that we obtained like when a caterpillar waves at a butterfly and that butterfly scoffs and says
“hi, hi…well
I used to be just like you, but now I
am royalty, see I am free.”

What I do see is that when democracy was founded
our forefathers saw what our fathers are too quiet to have.
The freedom to speak should be obvious
because we were given voice eons before women got choice
but tell me when last you took a chance
and tore apart your lips to pour change into your mug instead of coffee.
Or spread the kind of knowledge that you can’t find electronically supplied.

And yes, we’re all in a hurry to get where we’ve been going
to be happy without knowing
the freedom of our immigrant ancestors
who spent their life savings on Monday’s dinner and then did the same on Tuesday.

If you could meet them you’d say
“why? Why not fly with the wings democracy brings
away to be free?”
And this soot soiled sap would look at you and tip his moth-eaten hat and wipe dry his truth-soaked lips and say
“the wings on a butterfly fall still when it dies
but when I speak my neighbors listen and my bread wins the family pride and my vote will last forever and baby,
the only one here who is free, is me.”